a short poem about someone giving up...
|On My Hands
Guilt on my hands.
There is no desire in my heart.
I struggle to rise from my empty floor.
My life’s been pulled apart.
Time on my hands.
This impossible phase of it.
Try to do more with so much less.
Should be happy as if a gift.
Shame on my hands.
No air left in my leaden feet.
I turn right, left, circle back.
Nothing to do so I repeat.
Whys on my hands,
No dreaming to give me freedom.
Dark clouds on my horizon mount.
I’d take exits but don’t see them.
Blood on my hands.
A body lies cold at my feet.
A sane person would be afraid.
The body, it looks just like me.